


Bomb in my Stomach

by carriecmoney



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, House Party, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2729960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carriecmoney/pseuds/carriecmoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gonna have a good time for the rest...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bomb in my Stomach

If Jean had been late to the party as he’d planned, his last semester of college might have turned out a lot differently. As it was, the three days between his last exam and the party for campus stragglers (or town natives like him) were boring as hell. The facebook reminder hadn’t even pinged when he hugged his mom goodbye (straightening her glasses on her nose) and pulled out of the driveway.

The fake Christmas party was at Ymir’s shitty rental house in the sticks next to campus. There was plenty of street parking left when he got there, but there were a few scraped-up college kids’ cars clustered around her corner when Jean and his yellow Mustang pulled up, so at least he wasn’t first.

It’d been a few weeks and some crusher exams since Ymir had explained the party and its gimmick to Jean, who hadn’t really given a shit beyond ‘there’s a party at my place after finals’. He’d warned her that he wouldn’t be bringing any alcohol on principle because fuck Christmas and fuck Christmas parties, but she’d just shrugged and added him to the facebook event over the algebra homework he was walking her through like a toddler.

It was butt cold outside. He yanked down the flaps of his hat and flipped up his coat collar as he walked up the fractured sidewalk in the city dark to her rickety porch, creaking and thin.

When Jean banged on the door, the muffled chatter through the warped windowframe widened to include laughter and a grinning Ymir, girlfriend plastered to her side. “Yo, Hanukkah made it!”

“Yeah, fuck off and let me in, it’s cold as balls out here.” She laughed and backed up, hauling girlfriend with her. Jean ducked in so Ymir could slam the rickety door behind him.

It was stuffy in Ymir’s front room, even with only five other people in it. Jean shucked off his coat and threw it on the pile, followed by his hat. “So, what torture are we being subject to this time, crazy pants?”

She grinned and held up her wrist – handcuffed to her girlfriend’s.

“Policeman’s Christmas Party. Duh.”

Jean sneered. “You’re batshit.”

Ymir cackled. Her girlfriend rolled her eyes. “We’re matching people based on when they showed up,” she explained as Ymir buried her face in girlfriend’s hair. Girlfriend squirmed and shoved her away. “Rule is simple, stay there until you two finish your alcohol. Ymir, stop it!” Ymir grinned and chewed on a piece of girlfriend’s hair. Girlfriend shook her head and yanked it away. “Gross!”

“And I thought boyfriends were obnoxious.” Ymir wrinkled her nose at him. He shoved his still cold hands in his back pockets. “So, what sorry ass gets me?”

Ymir winked and spun him around with her free hand to face the couch. “Marco, I’m sorry, but sacrifices must be made.”

The dude on the couch shrugged, smile tugging up higher on one side. Jean sucked in a breath – it was Hot Cafeteria Guy, that kid he always saw in the dining hall and admired his jawline and his ass but never quite amped himself up enough to talk to. Apparently, his name was Marco.

Marco shuffled aside on the couch to make room for him. Jean shook his head to think straight. Ymir was jabbering away at an introduction, but Jean was lost to her, wandering to the newly-vacant spot, still warm when he sat down. Marco’s narrowed eyes followed him the whole way. Jean swallowed.

“Hi.”

Marco smiled at him. “Hi.”

Ymir threw a pair of cheap handcuffs at Jean’s chest, jerking him out of his trance with a yelp. “Great, you two know each other. Get plastered.” The door opened again, and Ymir and girlfriend left Marco and Jean to go deal with the new arrivals.

Jean picked up the handcuffs, ears burning. “Uh, so-”

“I’ve got whiskey.” Marco waved a no-name bottle that had been tucked into his side. “Is that okay?”

Jean nodded. “Uh – so.” Jean held out his hands, palm-up. “Pick a hand.”

Marco snorted and clapped a cuff to Jean’s left wrist, snapping the other one on his right. Jean’s heart pattered in his chest as Marco’s arm yanked him closer as he unscrewed the cap of the whiskey bottle. Marco flicked a corner look at him.

“You wanna start, or me?”

Jean needed to be drunk _yesterday_ to deal with being handcuffed to his stranger-crush. He took the bottle and threw back a burning swallow. Marco laughed, the vibrations rattling the handcuff chain.

They passed bottle back and forth for a while in silence, watching the party build around them. When Jean felt too warm again, he wiped his dripping nose on his far shoulder and bit his cheek.

“So,” Jean said. Marco looked at him, top teeth tucked in the lip of the bottle. Jean tugged at the neck of his shirt. “How do you know Ymir?”

“Blood relation. She’s my cousin. I sort of grew up with her.” Marco grinned at the appalled stare from Jean.

“You poor child.” Marco snorted, curling in on himself, Jean’s hand practically in his lap now.

“I’d say it wasn’t that bad, but I’d be lying.” Marco drank more whiskey, eyes shining. When he handed the bottle over, he turned to face Jean, folding a long leg between them on the couch and draping his cuffed arm on the back of it, forcing Jean to follow suit. Jean’s hand trembled on the whiskey neck. They were a third into it. “What about you?”

“I do her math homework for her so she doesn’t steal my lunch money.”  Marco snorted again, eyes squinted on his smile. Jean grinned, laughed too, leaning in as Marco did. Marco took a deep breath and smiled through his bangs at Jean, breath gusting down the gaping collar of Jean’s shirt. Jean gulped and sat back.

They talked like that through another half of the bottle, knees bumping under the back cushion. Marco wasn’t only Hot Cafeteria Guy, but Funny, Smart, and Fascinating Cafeteria Guy. Jean got wrapped up asking about his life, his childhood growing up next to Ymir, his family back in Guatemala, the hockey scar on his nose. There was another one on his bottom lip, but Jean wasn’t drunk enough to ask about that one yet.

The next time Jean pulled himself out of Marco’s bourbon eyes, the party was in full swing around them. As he’d predicted when he said yes to the party, he didn’t know anyone beyond vaguely familiar campus faces, like Marco had been. Someone had dragged out Ymir’s hookah, and a few couples were splitting it in the corner. Music was blatting from some shitty hidden speakers in the back half of Ymir’s house, old alternate rock that was too staticy to make out words. Jean blinked around, frowning, skin unhooked from his muscles, limbs distant.

“Do you know anyone else here?”

Marco gave a quick glance around. “No, not really.”

Jean swallowed. “It’s really hot in here.” His tongue was heavy in his mouth, words clumsy. He flapped his hand at the hookah. “If I stay in here with that thing much longer, I’m gonna have an asthma attack.” He slurred on ‘asthma’ and batted at his dumb numb mouth – with the handcuffed hand. Marco’s arm followed. “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” Their hands fell down heavy, Marco’s hand on Jean’s knee. Marco set the whiskey bottle on the floor, eyes locked on Jean. “Wanna step outside?”

“ _Yes_.” Jean swung himself to his feet and nearly toppled Marco over. “Fuck.” He giggled into Marco’s chest, both of them whiskey-turvy. Marco’s free hand rested on his back, and Jean shivered. “Sorry.”

“Don’mind.” Marco dragged the back-hand down Jean’s side, making him shiver harder, and latched on Jean’s cuffed wrist with calloused fingers. “C’mon.”

“Yeah.” Jean’s vision swam, focus a step behind where his eyes actually are. It was too loud, too much, and Marco led him through the packed front room to the door, no one paying attention to these two guys they didn’t know.

It was still butt cold outside, no matter _how_ drunk Jean was. The door clattered shut behind them, leaving them standing on the cobwebby porch. It was still loud, but muffled, clipped claws in Jean’s spinning head. He couldn’t focus on anything, last week’s dirty snow or the buzzing porchlight or Marco’s multicolored freckles. His mouth was dry; he licked his lips. The fingers in his wrist dug harder.

“Jean.” He shivered, stepping into Marco’s heat. “Did you know that I’ve seen you before?”

Jean tucked himself into the broad water heater of Marco’s trunk. “I stalk you in the caf, too.” Marco huffed, stomach jerking under Jean’s trailing hand. “You’re super warm.”  

Marco hummed, right into Jean’s forehead. He trailed his mouth over Jean’s temple, down his cheek. Jean sighed into it, melting against Marco. Marco stumbled back, shoulders hitting the post of the porch roof. Marco’s breath rushed out of him into Jean’s ear, laugh overlayed.

Someone yelled right next to the door; Jean started, jerking at Marco’s wrist hard enough to wince.

“C’mere.” Marco grabbed Jean’s hand this time and led him down the five steps to the ground, noise receding a little more. There was a leaf-litter cubby under the porch, but they didn’t even make it there, Jean’s last-step stumble ending up in Marco pressing him to the frozen concrete foundation, handcuffed hands clasped by Jean’s head. Jean blinked away the swirling stars and his giggle cocktail as he stared up at Marco, a breathing shadow and hot, hot, hot. Jean’s free hand swung limp at his side, lips parted. They were just breathing and staring, captivated.

Marco’s free hand came up to trace around the line of Jean’s undercut, temple to nape. Jean gasped and shivered against him, eyes slipping closed. He didn’t see Marco duck down the last three inches to his mouth. Jean had two tongues in his mouth before it even clicked that they were kissing.

He groaned and opened his mouth to it, arching away from the hard ice at his back. Marco’s free hand slipped around his waist and yanked him closer, thigh between thigh, mouth hard and searching, nose digging into Jean’s cheek. Jean squirmed, free hand pawing at Marco’s shoulder. Marco growled into his mouth – stilled.

Marco jerked back like he’d been hooked by the neck. Jean was having trouble keeping his eyes open, brow furrowed. Marco dropped him against the cinderblocks, head knock hitting some other Jean’s skull. Jean moaned and clutched at it to keep it steady as Marco cursed in Spanish or Russian or something, handcuff jangling in Jean’s ear.

“The fuck’s g’won?” Jean groaned.

“Sorry- sorry.” A hand on his upper arm, clothes between them. “Sorry, God. C’mon.” Marco guided him back up the steps, Jean’s hands not quick enough to keep them there and fix whatever piece of their puzzle hadn’t fallen right.

The inside lights blinded Jean, leaving him disoriented through the whole trip through the three-room house to find Ymir. His wrist was free soon, though, three Marcos winking out of his view and into the back room. A different body pressed against his shoulder now, tall and bony.

“All right, mister, let’s get you home.”

“But what about-”

“Your car’ll be fine, you can come get it in the morning.” A thin hand spread its fingers between his shoulder blades. “C’mon, tiger.”

Jean obeyed, letting the hand push him back into the butt cold and back to his own front door.

```

After three weeks and several nights of staring at his ceiling wondering what the _fuck_ happened at Ymir’s party, the spring semester started again. He had about the same schedule as last semester, different classes at the same times, so his lunch was in the same two-hour block. Of course, there was no guarantee that Marco had done the same. But one could hope.

Jean got his tray of shitty pasta and limp salad and stepped out into the dining room. It was packed, like usual at eleven-thirty. He frowned and squinted at a long table over by the one window showing weak January sunlight.

He stomped over and slammed his tray down across from Marco, who jumped and looked up from his textbook with wide eyes. Jean’s ears flamed, but he kept his scowl on.

“You know you could’ve just _asked_.”

Marco blinked, mouth hanging open. “Asked what?”

Jean flapped his hand. “Lots of things!” He plopped down in the chair and leant forward on his elbows, glaring at Marco, who was still in shock. “Like if I wanted to keep on, first of all! I mean, you could’ve at least asked me to a movie or something, jeez.” Marco blinked, smile tugging up on one side.

“I’m sorry.” Marco rubbed at the side of his nose. “So it wasn’t – bad?”

“Dude, I was drunk off my _ass_ , which is the _only_ reason I _let_ you get away.” Marco raised an eyebrow at Jean, and his heart pattered. “So, uh.”  He swallowed. “Wanna try again?”

Marco’s smile evened out. “Sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> {A/N: I found out that handcuff parties existed and had to write it, but it went in a different direction than I expected. An older bit I found in my WIP folder that I decided to go ahead and throw up here. [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney) [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com)}


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